Da Ork Null City Hire Trukk Kumpany
by MA7
Summary: A hilarious look at the daily antics of an Ork taxi service. As a professional hire car driver myself I have included a lot of real life anecdotes about crazy orkish stuff that goes on in real life. The Ork is flipping off you if you don't read his story. Rated M mostly for bad language and jokes about tau faces looking like lady parts.
1. Chapter 1

Da Ork Null City Hire Trukk Kumpany.

Author's wordy bit at the start: hi all, username MA7 here giving one of those insufferable author monologues. As I have mentioned in other author notes, I have a science degree, AND a scientific diploma, AND blah blah blah. After years of study gaining first my degree and then my subsequent qualifications, I, like many people with science qualifications, naturally became a hire car driver/cab driver. (As you can tell I'm not bitter about my career trajectory at all...)

Anyway, job market, no jobs in science, massive layoffs, yadda yadda, I now drive a vehicle picking up members of the public and driving them where they want to go. On a good day I earn over $10 an hour, on a bad day I earn $3 an hour, some people tip, most people don't tip, boo hoo sob story, moving on.

You have never really seen the full spectrum of humanity until you have worked in public transport, some of the shit I have seen is stranger than fiction, and a lot of stuff is just horrible (especially watching domestic violence against defenceless women happening in my own fucking vehicle!). I have seen some strange shit (for example the drug addict who was savagely off his tits on God knows what who simply refused to get out of the vehicle when I took him to his destination. He instead spent like ten minutes saying "too much STRESS" and scribbling all over my work book until his girlfriend finally managed to coax him out of the vehicle. It was fucking bizarre.)

But when I am not seeing strange and bizarre shit, I see TRAFFIC, endless, sanity eroding, road rage inducing, maddening TRAFFIC. An entire shift of traffic jams is enough to drive you mad. On a slow day I park somewhere waiting for customers and write FanFiction, but today was not a slow day at all. Today what I saw was TRAFFIC!

By the 9th straight hour of my shift today, I had spent the entire fucking day in traffic jams, and the temptations of Khorne were strong in my heart as I was stuck behind some fucking asshole going 40 in a 60 zone during rush hour traffic, and I had an overwhelming desire to just RAM THE FUCKER OFF THE ROAD, the way you do in these situations.

In this moment of weakness I found myself dearly wishing that I was an Ork in a Trukk with a big ass ram on the front of it so that I could just ram this fucking asshole. As I value my job, I of course didn't do any highly satisfying ramming, but the experience gave me an idea about what an Ork hire car company would actually be like.

So, still in my work uniform, freshly home from WAY to much driving, and more than a little sleep deprived, here I am writing this story (either that or falling asleep here on the couch).

Chapter 1(Ork)

Deep in the guts of the sprawling dark eldar city of Commorragh, down below even the shitty districts that Bhirae and her fellows live in, lies a place known as Null City - the xenos districts of Commorragh where most of the xenos mercenaries live.

To say that Null City was a dump would be an insult to dumps everywhere. It was like the trash heap that other trash heaps dump their own trash in, it was even nastier than that trash planet in the new Thor movie (seriously watch Thor Ragnarock, however it's spelt).

Null City is, on a good day, a continent sized squalid shanty town full of perpetual civil war. On a bad day, Null City is a flattened landscape under a mushroom cloud, but it is always rebuilt quickly afterwards.

Orks, humans, Kroot, Tau, Vespids, mutants, those weird frog monsters, an alien race where every single member was named Kevin, gaseous fart monsters, that really obnoxious alien race that has no concept of personal space, ALL of these xenos and many more could all be found here in Null City.

It was the most diverse melting pot in the galaxy, and as the constant civil war testified, diverse cultures in the 41st millennium get on REALLY well when confined together in a single squalid shanty town.

Like most shanty towns, no one had ever actually DESIGNED the layout of the buildings, no one had thought "hmm we really need to be sure that we have a proper road network", nope none of that. The zoning process basically went "oh look, here is some empty space, let's build a shanty building on it with no regard whatsoever for how this will effect other people."

Null City didn't really have "roads" as such, more like meandering gaps between the buildings that formed a maze of twists and turns. This didn't bother the motorists too much, they simply drove right through buildings in the way, making their own roads that over time grew larger and more travelled.

The owners of said shanty houses often did not like the fact that someone just drove through their fucking house, and they tended to get rather violent. It was in fact a big contributor to the constant civil wars, the situation when the battle between pedestrians and motorists went, just a little bit, too far.

In this squalid shit hole, just getting from A to B was a big challenge, and it was for this challenge that Da Ork Null City Hire Trukk Kumpany had been born.

***...

LeadFoot da Ork driver stomped his foot down as he noticed some git going too slow in a vehicle out in front. The big red Trukk roared it's engine, and the mighty metal ram on the front slammed into the back of the git, flipping the slow vehicle over to crash out of the way through a side wall.

"Careful you brute! I didn't hire your services to get me killed!" The pointy eared dark eldar git of a customer shouted.

LeadFoot punched the sissy Eldar in the face, stole his wallet, and threw the mouthy git out of the Trukk to let him walk if he thought so poorly of LeadFoot's driving ability. LeadFoot then sped off to leave the talky little git to it, ramming other vehicles out of the way as he drove back to the depot.

(And I fell asleep on the couch zzz).

(The next day now)

LeadFoot's big red trukk roared as he repeatedly pressed the "go faster" button, a big red button that, strangely enough, made the trukk go even faster than usual. The trukk rammed aside every slow git in his path, opening up the traffic in a highly satisfying manner.

The traffic up ahead jammed right up so heavily that even LeadFoot's ram couldn't shift them, so LeadFoot simply drove straight through the walls of a row of shanty buildings beside the "road", imaginatively bypassing the traffic completely (and leaving a trail of destruction behind him).

People who lived in these shanties screamed as the big red trukk slammed the living fuck right through their living areas, flattening furniture (and occasional people) under the big fat rubber tires of the trukk. LeadFoot chuckled jubilantly as his trukk bounced crazily over the various stuff under the tires, slamming through wall after wall, blinded by junk covering the windscreen.

LeadFoot consulted the "GPS", which he thought stood for "Gork Finds Stuff" (,yes "Finds" doesn't start with a "P", but LeadFoot is an Ork so didn't let stuff like this bother him). The GPS used some strange magic to show the way to the depot, and LeadFoot blindly drove in the direction it said, blindly flattening absolutely everything in his path.

Eventually the trukk slammed into a row of equally dead-'ard Ork trukks in the "parking lot" of the depot, and stopped dead in its tracks. The sudden deceleration was brutal enough to send the pile of debris covering the windscreen flying off so that LeadFoot could see.

LeadFoot booted open the door to his trukk and staggered out of the badly battered vehicle. He walked into the depot carrying the pointy eared git's stolen wallet (having already taken his own share of the money it contained), and went to see his boss, who, funnily enough, was named Kevin.

"Oi Kevin, I finish drivin dat pansy Eldar git, here 'is wallet boss." LeadFoot said, handing the stolen wallet to the boss.

Kevin smiled and counted out way more than the expected fare from the wallet.

"Dat Eldar must've been a real good tipper," Kevin said with a happy orkish grunt.

LeadFoot nodded stupidly and asked about his next pick up.

"Ok, ya need ta go to da sissy airport bit at willy-town ta pick up some techie tau gits named Ka'unt Fa'sy." Kevin explained.

"Cunt Face?" LeadFoot asked dumbly.

"Um, yeah close enough I guess. Go pick em up an take em to da Tau casino place at Tau Town." Kevin explained.

LeadFoot nodded and wrote down these instructions on a bit of trash paper with a stick of graphite he kept in his pocket for such occasions.

LeadFoot left the slabby stone depot building to find a bunch of grots refuelling his trukk with a bunch of oil squigs (,squigs that naturally excreted a diesel like oily substance out of a special gland that Orks use to run their vehicles on). LeadFoot cheerfully tipped the helpful little buggers for filling up his vehicle and got back in his trukk.

The trukk, whom LeadFoot had affectionately named "Bob", rumbled into life, and LeadFoot checked the battered GPS to point him in the vague direction of willy-town airport.

With a very vague idea what direction to point "Bob da trukk", LeadFoot put his namesake foot down and sped off through all the intervening buildings in his way.

Many people rendered homeless later, LeadFoot was parked outside the space port terminal at Willy-Town, shouting "Cunt Face" at every Tau he saw. For some reason this pissed off the local Tau people, and LeadFoot got to fill in the time having a swell punch up with a pack of outraged tau.

"Are you our driver?" Asked a new group of tau who had just exited the terminal.

"Um, I is 'ere ta pick up some tau called Cunt Face," LeadFoot explained.

"It's pronounced Ka-unt Fa-SY, not Cunt Face," the tau party said offended.

"Close enough, get in ya gits," LeadFoot told them.

The tau group got in the back of the bulky armoured red trukk and asked to be taken to the main tau casino in Tau Town district of Null City.

The tau then spent the rest of the trip screaming in terror as LeadFoot avoided the "roads" and instead took a more... direct, route through the intervening buildings.

(Author's note, I can't stop laughing as I write this stuff).

LeadFoot put on some death metal music to drown out the sounds of the passengers screaming, and had a great time as he plowed his way through the flimsy shanty buildings in a more or less straight line.

Eventually he crashed into an immovable metal pole in the outskirts of Tau Town, and the passengers absolutely insisted on walking the rest of the way. They fearfully gave LeadFoot a very large tip "to go away", and LeadFoot thanked them warmly and told them to recommend Da Ork Null City Hire Trukk Kompany to their friends. The tau nodded dubiously.

LeadFoot reversed away from the pole he had crashed into and sped off through the intervening buildings.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2(Ork)

"Oi LeadFoot, ya got a copy?", asked some other Ork git over the radio.

"A copy of what?" LeadFoot asked confused.

"Um, it means are ya there." The git replied.

"Um ok. What's up?" LeadFoot asked.

"Da sky is up," the dickhead joked.

"Dat joke wasn't funny the first twenty times ya say it ya stupid git," LeadFoot said exasperatedly.

"But da sky "is" up!" The other Ork insisted stubbornly.

"Ya know what else is up?. My boot! My boot is up your ass if ya don't stop saying that joke," LeadFoot growled.

(Author's note, exactly this situation happens to me at least once every Tuesday. It was maybe slightly funny the first time. Months later it just shits me. At least come up with a new joke for pity's sake.)

"Um, ok," the git said and forgot to say his message.

"Oi, what about ya message, why ya radio me?" LeadFoot asked over the two way.

"Oh, nothing, I just call ta tell ya dat da sky is up," the other Ork chuckled.

LeadFoot angrily cursed into the radio and promised to punch the git next time he saw him.

Today was a slow day, just sitting around waiting for da radio ta tell em ta pick up some customer git. Generally the business came in peaks and troughs.

LeadFoot didn't understand how it worked, but basically, the company would get a bunch of naïve new customers that would hire them. The drivers would then pick the people up, and drive so crazily that the customers warned all their friends against ever hiring these Orks again. It would then be slow business until a new bunch of unwitting out-of-towners came along and started the cycle all over again.

LeadFoot sighed and drove off to buy more food from his mates who ran da fuel station. He still had a bit of money that he had stolen from that mouthy dark eldar git, and given that he slept rent free on the ground each night, he mostly just used his income to buy stuff like food and beverages.

LeadFoot clambered out of the brutally battered red trukk, remembering to take the keys with him this time, and entered the Badmoon Petroleum (or BP), a fuel stop franchise operated by Orks of da Bad Moon clan. LeadFoot himself was of course a member of da Evil Sunz clan, but da Evil Sunz and da Bad Moonz got on well in Null City.

"Oi ya Bad Moon gits, how ya doing me old mates?" LeadFoot asked cheerfully.

The Ork proprietors snorted belligerently, the way Orks do in response to a wide range of different social situations, and cheerfully hurled snottlings at LeadFoot in a gesture of friendship.

LeadFoot friendlily responded by calling them gits, as was expected in Ork "kultur", and returned fire with snottlings of his own (the establishment was infested with the little blighters).

The proprietors responded by pulling down their trousers, bending over with a lighter in front of their bums, and farting huge gouts of ignited farts at LeadFoot in a way that was extremely advisable in a place that sold fucking FUEL...

The flaming farts ignited the extremely dangerous fumes that filled the entire building, and all the air in the room ignited with a flash, including the air in LeadFoot's lungs. The building caught fire just a "tiny bit", but this wasn't seen as a major problem by the Orks, who had been honestly hoping for a more spectacular BOOM.

LeadFoot coughed as the insides of his lungs were scorched, and staggered slightly from this injury. If LeadFoot was some soft pansy human then he would be dying right now, but LeadFoot was an Ork, and easily dead 'ard enough to shrug off a bit of lung burning.

LeadFoot and the other Orks laughed croakily through their scorched throats, and watched with interest as the slabby Ork dung building crackled merrily with flame all around them. The building was made from hard packed dead 'ard Ork turds, and could withstand a bit of arson with minimal damage.

The establishment had a large herd of oil squigs in an open penned dung "pasture" out back that produced the fuel they sold, so this inferno was only a minor loss of product for da "BP". The fuel drums full of "squig diesel" inside the main dung building were blazing warmly with orange flames and black smoke, so the proprietors simply booted the drums over (inside the building) to "empty them faster" (all over the fucking FLOOR), which, strangely enough, seemed to make the fire situation even worse.

The Orks cheerfully directed the toppled drums out the door with strong kicks, and LeadFoot followed them out to the oil squig pens as they booted the burning out drums ahead of them. The fuel station building behind them was now "definitely" on fire, and it looked really interesting with all the yellow flames dancing out of the windows and doors.

By the time they reached the oil squigs, the fuel drums had burned themselves out, and were merely quite hot, blackened, and smoking slightly. The Orks righted the sideways drums next to the squig pens, and started grabbing oil squigs to "milk" into the fuel drums, achieved by holding the squigs upside down over the drums and savagely punching them until they vomited out a diesel-like substance from an internal oil bladder. It was extremely fun and the drums were quickly refilled.

The traumatised looking squigs ravenously returned to eating huge amounts of dung to replace all the lost oil, and the Orks cheerfully carried a heavy UNSEALED oil drum each in the direction of the still burning building...

Yeah... Nobody ever said that these Orks were very smart...

***...

Eventually the fire gutted dung building stopped burning, something not helped by the Orks trying to enter the fucking burning building carrying drums of fucking FUEL. The dung substance of the building had now been fired like clay in a pottery kiln from the heat of the inferno, and was looking kind of fragile, but more dung slapped on it would soon fix these problems.

LeadFoot snacked on roasted snottlings who had not escaped the blaze, and bought a full tank of fuel from the BP (once the drums stopped catching fire). LeadFoot's roasted lungs were already healing the way Orks do, he really was dead 'ard (but as we have established, not particularly smart).

The BP, like Da Ork Null City Hire Trukk Kompany, had a habit of scaring away a lot of customers with their crazy Ork behaviour, and few except Orks were mad enough to set foot anywhere near the place. It had caught fire so many times that even the local shanties kept quite a distance away from the fire safety disaster of a building, giving an unprecedented amount of free space all around for squig pens and parking.

LeadFoot waved goodbye to his mates at da BP (as the building caught fire yet again), and drove off to kill some time doing burnouts and donuts in the surrounding shanty buildings (literally "in" the shanty buildings).

LeadFoot whooped for joy as he roared through other people's living rooms, and did a sick donut around some naked humie woman sitting screaming in a bathtub (the bathroom walls and rest of her house were flattened under the wildly spinning "Bob Da Trukk").

This was great, no git customers, just LeadFoot and 'is trukk doing what they did best. The way life should be.

***...

A while later, LeadFoot was back at da depot after a long day of extremely fun burnouts and donuts. The tyres had eventually shredded to pieces and LeadFoot had been forced to drive back to base on the bare rims of the tyres to get new wheels put on.

"Dem tyres are expensive ya git! We ain't got no customers neither, so how ya get 4 flats at da same time huh?" Kevin da boss shouted at LeadFoot.

LeadFoot cowered before his physically much larger boss Kevin, LeadFoot was just a normal Ork boy, while Kevin was a Nob, bigger and stronger than regular Orks.

"Sorry boss," LeadFoot apologised.

"Dem new tyres is coming out of ya own teef," Kevin said.

Kevin then brutally punched out all of LeadFoot's teeth, as Orks used teeth as currency, and took all of said teeth to pay for the repairs. Ork teeth grew back quite quickly, so this was merely a minor inconvenience for LeadFoot.

LeadFoot then slinked off to find a quiet corner to sleep, (and grow new teeth), feeling humbled but still considering the day's fun activities worth getting his teeth punched in.

LeadFoot settled down to sleep, and spent the night dreaming about all the burnouts he would do tomorrow with the new tyres...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3(Ork)

The time I picked up a state senator:

Username MA7 here giving you a real life hire car incident that is funny enough to recount here. As this involves a currently sitting real life Australian state senator, I will keep the names and specific details secret for the sake of confidentiality.

It was a very hot day almost a year ago when I was sent to an airport to pick up some guy. I had no idea that he was a senator, I was merely given a name (which I didn't recognise) and instructions to pick him up from the terminal at such and such a time.

The airport was quite a distance away from the suburbs we usually operate in, so it took a good hour to get there, but during that hour, grandfather Nurgle reared his putrid head and started going to work on my intestines...

There was definite... gurgling, going on in my intestines. Diarrhoea was on its way, and I could only desperately hope that it would subside.

Like I mentioned, it was a hot day, a blazingly hot Australian summer day, so hot that the air conditioning couldn't fully cool the car. Now I'm one of those people whose guts turn to water when I get too hot, and as I already had an upset stomach anyway, the problem compounded itself.

By the time I arrived at the airport I was feeling quite profound discomfort, but I couldn't park in the stupid airport free parking long enough to duck in to use the facilities, not with all the airport parking Nazis hovering around ready to give me a fine if I was even a nanosecond longer than the few minutes parking allowed outside the terminal. The paid parking was outrageously expensive and the guy was already waiting for me anyway so I decided to just grimace and bear my discomfort.

I don't follow politics enough to recognise the middle aged white guy who got in the car. He was just a baby boomer like millions of others as far as I could tell. His clothes and belongings were clearly high quality and expensive, far above what I could afford, but middle aged white guys are often irritatingly wealthy so this didn't set off any warning bells.

We made small talk about the weather, the way you do, but it was clear that neither of us actually wanted to chat, so we dropped the whole charade and just sat in silence for (most) of the rest of the trip. We had an hour of travel ahead of us before reaching his address, an hour that was... well, you'll see.

By about 5 minutes into the journey, my sphincter felt a bit like Gandalf, with a mighty monster demanding right of passage, and my poor sphincter screaming "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

My guts were gurgling loudly, the pressure was building, there was quite a lot of pain, and I was in cold sweats with my face going distinctly grey. Something had to give, Gandalf could not hold this monster!

I subtly looked at the guy. He smiled and I quickly looked away thinking, "oh crap he saw me, PLEASE look the other way!"

Eventually he looked out the window, and I attempted an extremely subtle silent fart, just to relieve some of the pressure. It was meant to be silent, but the fucking thing trumpeted out like the herald angels! The guy shifted slightly and pretended that he hadn't heard it, but he knew and I knew that he had heard that fart...

I waited a few minutes, and then risked another fart to release some of the agonising pressure that was building up inside me. It came out more silently this time, and in great relief I silently vented out some of this terrible pressure.

It was then that I noticed the smell...

Like I said, it was very VERY hot, and the air conditioning works a lot better if you set it to recycle the air. We would have like died if that AC was set to outside air!

The smell was like something out of Nurgle's own backside. It really was FILTHY.

I looked out of the corner of my eye at the passenger. He had his lips tightly stiffened with a somewhat pained expression, and he was sitting quite tensely in his seat. I pretended that I hadn't farted, and he pretended that he hadn't smelled it, and the charade went on in painful silence.

I desperately wanted to stop, but the pressure was getting worse and worse over time, if I didn't vent it then I would faint from the pain of the pressure.

I risked another fart when I could bear the pressure no longer, and once more it trumpeted forth like the fanfare from the herald angels...

Eventually it got to the point where this charade wasn't fooling anyone, so I dropped it and just admitted that I was feeling rather unwell. I radioed my boss and openly explained that I had the mother of all diarrhoea brewing, and would have to go home sick as soon as I dropped this guy off.

I figured that he was just some normal guy, so what was the harm if one random guy got gassed by my farts. So I just completely emptied out all of my stockpile of farts, and felt blissful relief to get some of that pressure out. The car was now like a gas chamber, and probably prohibited under international law as cruel and unusual punishment.

It was a rather unpleasant trip, for BOTH of us, and that guy was rather happy to get out of the vehicle at the end of the trip.

Before he got out (at his water view luxury home), he had to pay the fare, and, being a millionaire politician, he made the tax payers pay for it by using this weird government travel expenses card. I had never seen anything like it, it was covered in stuff about the Australian parliament and was obviously highly exclusive issue.

I asked him what it was and why it said "member of parliament" on it. He then dropped the bombshell that he was a fucking SENATOR!

I had spent a fucking HOUR gassing this guy with my FARTS in a confined space! I was so embarrassed that I wanted to die as I drove away!

I googled him later at home and his photo and name popped up on the official website of the political party! He really was a senator!

(Ok now back to LeadFoot).


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4(Ork)

Difficult customers.

LeadFoot looked dubiously at the human passengers getting into his vehicle, there was something distinctly odd about them. LeadFoot was not sure if it was the bald heads, the extra pair of arms, or the dark purple genestealer chitinous body segments that were out of place...

LeadFoot shrugged, da humies all looked da same to him, no need to get suspicious.

The dozen or so genestealers all wore sunglasses to be more inconspicuous, and LeadFoot was dim witted enough to fall for it, though he still thought that something was "odd" about them. The poorly disguised tyranids crawled into the truck, clambering over the walls and ceiling like a blowfly might do, and LeadFoot's suspicions increased.

"Somefing odd bout you gits, I is 'ere ta pick up some 'umie, the party of "Mr Human Human", is that you?" LeadFoot asked suspiciously.

"Yessss, by the hive mind yessss. I am Mr Human, but my friends call me Human. I am a human," one of the sunglasses wearing passengers hissed creepily.

"I am also a human," said another passenger unnecessarily.

"Yessss, we are all humansssss, yessss. Just a group of regular humansssss doing human thingssss," Mr Human Human hissed adamantly.

"Umm, ok. Where am I taking you?" LeadFoot asked.

"Take ussss to where the humanssss keep their eggssss, yesss, the human eggsssss," Mr Human hissed in a voice more creepy than a pedophile's voice.

"What!? Umies don't lay eggs ya git," LeadFoot pointed out.

"They don't? I mean... WE don't?... Oh yessss, I wassss so busy doing human thingssss that I forgot, yessss... Remind ussss, how do humansssss breed?" Mr Human hissed in his sphincter tightening creepy voice.

"How da Gork should I know, ya git!? Where am I taking you stupid gits," LeadFoot exclaimed irritatedly.

The "humans" didn't speak, but simply looked at him very intensely without blinking, in a way that was utterly creepy.

LeadFoot cleared his throat loudly, and every single "human" cocked their heads upside down in an angle that was perfectly unnatural at the noise.

"What da Gork are ya gits doing!?" LeadFoot bellowed.

"We are doing human thingssss," the dozen humans hissed in perfect unison.

"Where am I taking you!" LeadFoot demanded.

"Take ussss to where the humansssss breed, yessss," the group hissed in perfect unison, in a way that was "oh my fucking GOD" levels of creepy.

"The red light district?" LeadFoot suggested.

The group just silently stared at LeadFoot without blinking, so he took that as a "yessss" and drove towards the nearest brothel district (null city had more red light districts than you could throw a grot at).

The humans did not sit in their seats the entire trip, instead hanging off the ceiling and walls like geckos. One was even on the inner surface of the windscreen, blocking LeadFoot's view.

"Get off the windscreen ya git!" LeadFoot shouted at the human.

The human reluctantly crawled to the ceiling instead, hissing "yessss" as it did so.

LeadFoot plowed through buildings like he always did, but for once the humans didn't complain or see anything wrong with his driving.

LeadFoot smiled and said, "you are da best bunch a humies I ever pick up. You is all right. I wish all of dem be like you lots... Oi get off da windscreen!"

The trukk bounced and bumped through building after building with bone jarring thuds, but the humans didn't even budge from where they hung off the various surfaces. The silence of the passengers was just fucking creepy, and all of them stared incessantly at LeadFoot without blinking.

"Stop looking at me ya gits!" LeadFoot eventually snapped.

"I am not a tyranid," Mr Human hissed unnecessarily.

"What?" LeadFoot asked, taken aback by this bizarre statement.

"I am a human, I do human thingssss," Mr Human responded, which raised more questions than it answered.

"Are you drunk?" LeadFoot asked in incredulity.

"I am not a "Drunk", I am a human," Mr Human corrected LeadFoot.

"O...Kay..." LeadFoot said uncertainly.

The humans just kept staring at him like total creeps, and even the stupid LeadFoot had enough sense to get creeped out by this, and he deliberately drove even faster than usual to get these guys out of the trukk faster.

The trukk started plowing through strip clubs, flattening poles with women on them, shattering disco balls, and squishing topless waitresses under the front tyres as he slammed through walls, so LeadFoot figured that he had arrived in the right place.

"Ok, dis is da red light district I guess. You owe me... HEY! GET BACK AND PAY YOU GITS!" LeadFoot bellowed.

The gits had scarpered!

The sounds of hissing and women's screaming could be heard everywhere as the genestealers went mental infecting people, and LeadFoot honked on the horn angrily, shouting to be paid.

A human stripper, with a conspicuous puncture wound in her neck and zombie-like expression on her face, came forward and said, "so sorry, I forgot to pay yessss, I am a human."

The obviously genestealer-infected woman then pulled a wad of cash out of her G string waistband and handed it to LeadFoot.

"Umm..." LeadFoot said.

This was just too creepy...

***...

LeadFoot was still shuddering from picking up those "humans", when he arrived at his next pick up, a strange human woman with pink lightning flickering around her head.

"What is dat with ya head!?" LeadFoot asked in alarm.

"Do you KNOW what you ask!" The woman shrieked.

The woman then started cackling insanely.

"Where am I taking ya?" LeadFoot asked.

"To the centre of ALL," the woman raved in complete lunacy.

"Umm... Okay..." LeadFoot said dubiously, and proceeded towards the geographical centre of Null City, merely 800 miles away.

"Are you SURE ya want ta go dat far?" LeadFoot asked dubiously.

"So you NEED me now?!" The woman screamed.

LeadFoot opened his mouth to speak, but really had nothing, so closed it again as the woman laughed maniacally.

LeadFoot put his foot down, wanting to get this trip over as soon as possible.

"Witness us MOVE!" The woman shouted in delight at the speed.

"Umm..." LeadFoot said, at a loss for words.

The woman quieted down briefly, having some sort of silent shaking fit. Pink lightning was leaking out of her head at an alarming rate now, and LeadFoot shifted further away in his seat.

The woman then started levitating into mid air inside the trukk, and simply floated out the window...

LeadFoot slammed on the breaks, and drove after the woman. She was levitating high above the shanty buildings now, a storm of pink energy frying the corrugated roofing sheets and electrocuting random pedestrians.

On second thoughts, LeadFoot decided that maybe he DIDN'T want this woman back inside his vehicle...

The woman's voice then became daemonic and distorted, and she started spouting diabolical gibberish about Slaanesh. The possessed woman quickly mutated into some sort of warp portal, and daemonettes of Slaanesh started pouring out into Commorragh...

LeadFoot watched in juvenile fascination as the servants of Slaanesh went apeshit feasting on Dark Eldar souls as complete pandemonium reigned. This was great entertainment!

***...

LeadFoot drove off with his latest bunch of passengers, this time a huge group of daemonettes who had flagged him down for a lift.

"Take us to Eldar!" The daemonettes moaned orgasmically at LeadFoot.

"Da Eldar district?" LeadFoot asked.

The daemonettes nodded enthusiastically.

LeadFoot grunted in understanding and plowed off in the direction of the nearest district with a predominantly Dark Eldar population.

"You are exquisitely handsome," the nearest daemonette purred seductively.

She then started licking the side of his face...

"Quit it ya git!" LeadFoot yelled and punched her in the face.

LeadFoot was an Ork, and Orks do not reproduce by having sex. The orkoid race constantly releases spores into the air, these spores then grow into subsurface fungal tumours that slowly grow into new orkoids. No icky sex was involved, so no Ork had any interest in or ability to HAVE sex.

The daemonette moaned at the punch, and used her crab claw to cut away his trousers, seeking a penis. What greeted her was just bare skin, with a pinprick size hole to pee out of...

"Ya RUIN my pants!" LeadFoot shouted in rage, and he kicked her ass, not even bothering to steer as he brutally bashed her for destroying his favourite pants.

The trukk skidded out of control without him holding the wheel, and the trukk then flipped sideways and rolled 18 times before coming to rest on top of a squished flat family of Tau.

"That was AWESOME!" LeadFoot whooped in juvenile delight.

He flipped the trukk the right way up with difficulty, only to find that the pansy daemonettes had all been killed (actually just unsummoned) by the brutal crash, leaving only pink vapour in their wake.

LeadFoot shrugged and deliberately tried to duplicate the vehicle rollover, seeing if he could get more than 18 rolls from a single crash.

Off in the distance could be heard the sounds of a full scale daemonic invasion battling against dark eldar military forces, but LeadFoot was more interested in flipping his trukk 19 times in a row.

Today was AWESOME!

***...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5(Ork)

Drunks

(Loosely based on something that happened at work this weekend. Reworded slightly for poetic license, Orkyness, and 40k setting.)

LeadFoot drove to the airport terminal, literally crashing into a wall to save wear and tear on the break pads, to pick up a pair of humies.

LeadFoot shouted out the window that he was here to pick up some humie git called John Smith (highly original substitute name I know). A pair of highly inebriated human mercenaries got in the truck, clearly drunk as shit and not walking straight.

The bigger of the two men, an old humie with a grey beard and an inexplicable Australian accent, said that he was John Smith. The smaller man was slightly younger, with a strong Scottish accent, and said his name was Alex.

"What is your name driver?" John slurred.

"LeadFoot is my name," LeadFoot said with a grunt.

"LeadFoot? Is that a Scandinavian name? Where are you from?" Alex asked drunkenly.

"Um, I guess it might be? I is called LeadFoot cause of da way I drive," LeadFoot admitted curiously.

"Are you from Scandinavia?" Alex insisted.

"What?! I is from Null City, why da Gork would I be from wherever dat place is?" LeadFoot said incredulously.

"Scandinavia, it is a part of the planet Terra, are you from their?" Alex persisted excitedly.

"I is a Ork, why da Mork would any Ork come from Terra ya git?!" LeadFoot exclaimed exasperatedly.

"But you have a Scandinavian sounding name!" Alex persisted.

(Author's note, yes this is nearly word for word what happened in real life, almost verbatim for every character except LeadFoot.)

"So what, that doesn't mean he's from there," John pointed out in his own drunken slur.

There was a brief awkward pause.

"Damn I'm thirsty, they didn't give us a thing to drink on that plane!" John exclaimed with a slur.

LeadFoot personally doubted this, sloshed as both men were, but didn't argue this point.

"LeadFoot, can you swing by a bottle shop on the way home? I'm dying for a beer," John asked.

"Um, sure I guess," LeadFoot agreed.

"Thanks driver, I will buy you a beer too for your troubles. What type of beer will I get you?" John asked with cheerful complete seriousness.

(Yes this guy actually tried to buy me, the driver of the vehicle, a beer, I shit you not.)

"Ya want me ta drink a beer as I drive you home?" LeadFoot asked.

"You are a maniac, you want to get the driver drunk?" Alex laughed in his distinctive Scottish accent.

John realised what Alex was saying and laughed uproariously too, saying "well, a happy driver is a good driver."

"A bit too happy I fear," Alex laughed Scottishly.

The drunken dialogue continued for a while until LeadFoot found a pub that was open, and John Smith staggered inside, and came out a minute later bearing bottles of beer.

The pair downed the beers in like a minute, and became even drunker than before.

"Let's play a game to pass the time. You can play too LeadFoot. I will ask ten questions, whoever answers the most correct wins," Alex cheerfully announced.

(Yes this happened too, I will change the questions here to match the setting).

"Um, OK I guess I'll play," LeadFoot agreed happily enough.

"Ok, first question. What is the capital planet of the Imperium of Man?" Alex asked.

"Um, is it Armageddon?" LeadFoot suggested orkishly.

"Wrong," Alex said.

"Oh that's easy, it's Commorragh!" John announced confidently.

"Come on guys, the Imperium of MAN! Think, where do humans come from?" Alex persisted.

"Oh, it's a trick question isn't it! The capital of the Imperium of Man is the Imperium of Man itself isn't it!" John insisted cheerfully.

"No it's not!" Alex insisted.

LeadFoot scratched his head and suggested, "is it Scandinavia?"

"Well that's the closest answer so far, so I'm going to give the point to LeadFoot. The correct answer is Terra," Alex said with amused exasperation.

"Give us another question," John said.

"Ok, who fought in the ancient historical War in Heaven?" Alex asked.

"Um, in heaven you say? Is it the chaos gods," John asked.

"No," Alex replied.

"Da Orks?" LeadFoot suggested excitedly.

"Well ok technically the Orks DID fight in the War in Heaven, but I'm asking who were the PRIMARY belligerents?" Alex amended.

"The Eldar?" John suggested.

"Again, yes the Eldar did take part in the fighting, but I'm looking for the main belligerents," Alex replied.

"Gork and Mork," LeadFoot said confidently.

"Not even close! The answer I was looking for was the Necrons and the Old Ones. No points for either of you." Alex said exasperatedly.

"You are making this up!" John accused.

"No I'm not, I swear!" Alex insisted in that distinctive Scottish accent.

"What's da next question?" LeadFoot asked.

"The more I dry, the wetter I get. What am I?" Alex asked.

"A towel?" LeadFoot asked (my answer to this real life question).

"Yes, ding ding ding, LeadFoot gets the point. It's now 2 to 1 LeadFoot," Alex kept score with a drunk's concept of basic arithmetic. (Actually he didn't lose count until a few questions later, but you get the point).

"Wait, that doesn't sound right. I'm sure I have at LEAST 3 points!" John insisted.

"But we are only up to question 4!" Alex exclaimed.

"No were not, we are on question 5," John insisted.

"But no body answered question 2 correctly! It doesn't add up if you have 3 and LeadFoot has 2! It must be, wait maybe we are up to question 6?" Alex reasoned drunkenly.

"I'm so confused," LeadFoot admitted in confused dismay.

"Ok ok, question 6, what is the square root of 49?" Alex asked.

"Um?" LeadFoot said, thinking hard.

"7", John said after a pause.

"Correct, ding ding ding, the point goes to John. The score is now 4 to 2 John," Alex said excitedly.

"I don't think I'm going to win, I don't even remember what 2 of those 6 questions even were!" LeadFoot admitted, feeling stupid.

"Don't think that, you could still come back. Ok we are now on question, um, question 4 I think? Ok question 4, what is the capital city of Necromunda?" Alex asked, completely on top of the task of keeping count.

"Um, Scandinavia?" LeadFoot suggested.

"No," Alex replied.

"Oh, oh, the capital of South Africa is Pretoria!" John insisted excitedly.

"What!? That is not the question I asked and it's not even correct anyway!" Alex exclaimed in Scottish bewilderment.

"Oh wait, I know dis one! Da capital of South Africa is Johannesburg!" LeadFoot said excitedly.

"How da heck do you know that, LeadFoot!" Alex exclaimed in wonder.

"I get da point!" LeadFoot said happily.

(In case you are wondering, the capital city of Necromunda is Hive Primus or it's common name of Palatine Hive).

"Yes ok, LeadFoot gets that point. The score is now 4 to 3 John." Alex slurred Scottishly.

"I'm catching up," LeadFoot said happily.

"Ok, question 9, um. Let me think. Ah yes, what is the Capital City of Commorragh?" Alex asked.

"Woah, I'll never get this, it'll be something really obscure like Helsinki or something," John lamented drunkly.

"Commorragh is a city, dat must mean Commorragh is the capital city of Commorragh," LeadFoot said excitedly.

"Correct, ding ding ding ding ding. Oh dear, we have a tie now. 4 all. Time for a tiebreaker. Question 11, what is the national flower of, um, Jupiter?" Alex said jubilantly, totally asking coherent questions and keeping count masterfully.

(To be fair I am exaggerating a little bit, but I am using poetic license to make the story funnier.)

"Oh, I will never get dis. Um, is it a pine tree?" LeadFoot suggested feebly.

"It's a thistle, the national flower of Scotland is a thistle!" John said triumphantly.

(Incidentally, Jupiter is a gas giant and has no native flowers (though that would be awesome I agree), in the 41st millennium it is technically possible that Jupiter might have some sort of flying settlement in it's atmosphere, and possibly these settlements might have a national flower, but let's not go down that tangent.)

"Um, wait, what was the question again?" LeadFoot asked confused.

"The question was um, the national flower of, um... Scotland?" Alex said with reassuring confidence.

"I won, I won," John said happily.

"Ah, well, it's a fair cop. Ya beat me fair and square," LeadFoot congratulated the winner.

"Gee, all this thinking of questions is making me thirsty. Could you please stop by a bottle shop, I really need a drink. I've hardly had a drink all day!" Alex exclaimed adamantly...

***...

A little while later LeadFoot arrived at a bottle shop for Alex.

"Um, what are you doing here LeadFoot, I don't live here," Alex slurred.

"You wanted me ta take you to da bottle shop," LeadFoot reminded him.

"I absolutely did not! I never even mentioned a bottle shop until we arrived here!" Alex insisted with complete conviction.

"Yes you did! You asked LeadFoot 5 times in a row to take you here!" John insisted.

"No I didn't! I would remember if I did! I swear that I never said anything about a bottle shop!" Alex stubbornly insisted.

"Yes you did, we both heard you. Look, do ya want ta go in da shop or not?" LeadFoot pressed.

"Ah well, I guess I am a wee bit thirsty," Alex slurred and wandered into the bottle shop.

Two minutes later Alex came out of the bottle shop, carrying a giant box, one of those ones that has like 24 or 30 cans of beer in them...

***...

LeadFoot and John looked in vague concern as Alex tried his best to walk up from the curb to his house. He somehow managed to lose both his shoes between the space of the curb and his front door, lugging a gigantic box of beers.

With difficulty the highly inebriated man managed to walk in enough of a straight line to actually reach, well not the door, but he did at least manage to steer himself well enough to find a wall of his house. With the wall as a landmark he eventually located the wayward front door and LeadFoot drove off to take the barely conscious John home to his own house.

(Ok it was not a totally verbatim account of the entire real life exchange, a few details were slightly different. But it was still funny as fuck.)


End file.
